


Compatibility

by Jestana



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Don't copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 20:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20626949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jestana/pseuds/Jestana
Summary: Tom Ripley's talent for mimicry makes it difficult to test for Drift compatibility.





	Compatibility

**Author's Note:**

> When I pondered the idea for a Pacific Rim AU of Talented Mr. Ripley, my first thought was how Tom's talent for imitating others would affect his Drift compatibility. So this was born.

"I knew I'd find you here." The familiar voice startled Tom into turning from his view of the jaeger bay below his feet. Peter Smith-Kingsley, the Assistant Marshall of the Los Angeles Shatterdome, stood in the doorway, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Tom waved a hand dismissively and turned back to look at the jaegers. He heard Peter walk over and join him, a second pair of booted feet dangling beside his. "At least I know how to defend myself now."

"You're not leaving, are you?" Peter sounded concerned, nudging Tom's foot with his.

He nudged Peter's foot in return. "No one's told me to pack my bags, but you _know_ I haven't found a compatible partner yet."

"Doesn't mean there _isn't_ one," Peter reminded him, his voice gentle. "I've been reviewing your compatibility tests with Marshall Greenleaf."

Startled, Tom turned towards Peter. He knew they were recorded, but he hadn't expected anyone to take a second look at them. "You _have_? Do they show something _wrong_ with me?"

"No, not really." Peter shifted closer and covered Tom's hand with one of his. "You're mimicking your sparring partner's fighting styles."

He frowned thinking back to the tests he'd finished days before. "Are you _sure_?"

"_Quite_ sure." Peter nodded firmly. "They usually make the first move and you stay on the defensive. When you finally attack instead of defend, your moves match theirs. Maybe slightly different, but very similar." Gray-green eyes met blue. "It happened _every_ time."

Tom held his gaze for a moment, and then glanced away. "Surely that's a good thing, that I can match them like that?"

"In the short run, yes." Peter sighed softly. "But a _good_ team needs to work together for a _long_ time. That's what the sparring is supposed to show and that's why we _want_ you to try again."

He turned his head sharply to stare at Peter, who was staring straight ahead. "Again? B-but _none_ of the others worked out."

"But you've done well with the rest of the training," Peter told him, looking at him with a reassuring smile. "A lack of compatibility with your classmates doesn't mean you're not compatible with _anyone_. Just not _them_."

Tom studied Peter for several long moments. When Marshall Greenleaf brought him to the Shatterdome from working on the Wall, he'd been surprised when Peter had introduced himself as the Assistant Marshall. Unlike Marshall Greenleaf, who looked like the CEO of a big business corporation, Peter looked like a ranger candidate himself. He'd helped Tom when he struggled with the hand-to-hand combat training and led an optional daily practice session before breakfast. Besides that, he patiently answered questions about the kaiju and jaegers, often explaining things better than their trainers. Quietly, he asked, "You were a candidate once, weren't you?"

"Yes, at Auckland. Unfortunately, I wasn't compatible with any of my classmates." Peter didn't look at Tom, his eyes on the jaegers down below. "I'm not a mimic like you, though. I just didn't... fit with any of the others."

He nodded, pressing his lips together for a moment. "That brings up another problem: if I'm mimicking my opponents, how do I avoid doing it again?"

"The point of sparring is to show who _you_ are and see if you fit with any of the others," Peter explained, looking more comfortable now that they weren't talking about him. "Who is Tom Ripley? If not for the kaiju, what would you do with your life?"

Rather than offer a glib reply, Tom considered the question carefully. The kaiju and jaegers had been his sole focus for so long that he had trouble remembering what life was like without them. Closing his eyes, he thought back to before the kaiju came and left him an orphan. He tried to remember life with his parents. Finally, he opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them. "Music." Turning to Peter, he told him, "I took piano lessons before-- I wanted to be a concert pianist and travel the world."

"When we test you for compatibility again, _be_ that concert pianist," Peter told him with an encouraging smile and got to his feet.

He'd almost reached the door by the time Tom scrambled to his feet and said, "Only if you're one of my potential partners."

"I beg your pardon?" Turning back to Tom, Peter looked surprised and a little scared.

Joining him, Tom asked, "When did you last test for compatibility?"

"Um, months ago," Peter replied after a few moments' thought.

Grinning, he told him, "Then it's past time _you_ tested as well."

"Fine." Peter sighed. "I'll tell Marshall Greenleaf."

*

When they gathered in the sparring room a few days later, Tom could see Dickie Greenleaf, the Marshall's son, whispering with his two closest friends, Freddie and Fausto, and eyeing Tom scornfully. The other candidates waited with quiet curiosity. Finally, Marshall Greenleaf entered with Peter and Marge Sherwood trailing behind him, all of them carrying clipboards. Moving to the front of the room, the Marshall announced, "We've decided to test Candidate Ripley for potential compatibility again."

"Why bother?" Dickie interrupted, his scorn unmistakable. "We already know he doesn't fit with anyone."

Peter stepped forward, his tone even and stern. "That's not necessarily true, Candidate Greenleaf. The issue has been addressed and we're trying again."

"If you refuse to participate, then you will be removed as a ranger candidate," Marshall Greenleaf added. "Jaegers need to work together to defeat the kaiju. That starts _here_, in your training."

A voice towards the back piped up, "I'll test with Candidate Ripley, Marshall."

"Thank you, Candidate Logue," Marshall Greenleaf replied as the blonde, blue-eyed woman squeezed between the other candidates to the front.

Tom offered her a tight smile as they took up their positions opposite each other. He was glad Meredith had volunteered first. They weren't close, but she was civil to him at least. Peter glanced between them as he spoke, "Remember, this isn't about winning, this is about compatibility. First to five touches ends the bout. Ready, begin."

For once, Tom attacked first, moving quickly towards Meredith. She brought her staff up to block his attack, raising an eyebrow, "That was _too_ obvious, Tom."

"Was it?" he countered with a grin, letting his staff slide through his hands like a run of notes on the piano, tapping her side with the end. "One point to me."

"Clever," she remarked with a nod of her head.

They settled into a proper sparring match, wood clacking as they blocked and parried, Peter quietly and clearly counting the score. Finally, "Five to four, Logue."

"Well done, Tom," she told him, offering her hand.

He shook it, breathing hard, but still smiling. "Thank you for taking a chance, Meredith."

"Would anyone else like to volunteer?" Marshall Greenleaf asked as Tom drank some water and wiped his face with a towel.

Fausto raised his hand, "I will test with Candidate Ripley next."

"Thank you, Candidate Vao," Marshall Greenleaf replied, gesturing for him to come forward.

Tom moved into position with some trepidation. Fausto wasn't outright cruel to Tom the way Dickie and Freddie were, but he _did_ hang out with them when the candidates had time. "First to five touches ends the bout. Ready, begin."

While the bout with Meredith had been a playful, jaunty tune in Tom's mind, the bout with Fausto was more aggressive, almost taunting in a way. It ended at five to three in Fausto's favor. Not that Tom cared about the score. What mattered to him was the small, pleased smile on Peter's lips. He'd been sparring as himself instead of imitating his opponents. Turning to the gathered candidates, Tom asked, "Who's next?"

"I'll go next," Freddie offered with a smirk, pushing past the other candidates.

Tom hid a sudden burst of anxiety. Taller and stockier, Freddie relied on his size to intimidate his opponents and his strength to overpower them. "Remember, this is _not_ about winning, Candidate Miles."

"Yeah, yeah." Freddie waved a dismissive hand. "Let's go."

Once Peter told them to begin, Freddie charged forward, staff at the ready. Rather than try to challenge Freddie's strength, Tom held his ground until the last moment, and then dodged out of the way, tagging him on the bicep in the process. "One to zero, Ripley. I've told you many times, Miles, don't just rely on brute force."

"Whatever." Freddie straightened up and turned to face Tom. "Come on, Ripley. Let's dance."

Last time, Freddie had barely put any effort into their match. Now, he swung his staff with a clear intent to break bones. Bombastic, aggressive music played through Tom's head as he stayed on the defensive because Freddie never let up. Interestingly, the final score was, "Five to one, Ripley. Miles, work on your technique. That was shameful."

"Yeah, who cares so long as we beat the kaiju?" Freddie muttered, too quiet for Peter to hear.

The rest of the bouts were more like Meredith or Fausto, accompanied by light, playful music or something more aggressive in Tom's head. Halfway through, Marshall Greenleaf called for a break so Tom could rest. Peter brought him a sports drink. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than the last time we did this," Tom told him, drinking gratefully. "What are you seeing?"

Peter handed him a nutrition bar. "The mimic tries to come out, but the pianist is the one sparring. Keep it up."

"Thanks." Tom unwrapped the bar and devoured it in just a few bites. He smiled when Meredith brought him a fresh towel. "Hey."

As he wiped away the worst of the sweat, she said, "It felt different this time, when we sparred."

"Yeah, something Peter told me made me reassess my strategy." Tom scrubbed the towel through his blond hair, which was soaked with sweat. He'd _definitely_ need a shower once they finished.

She rested a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her curiously. Smiling, she told him, "Keep it up."

"I plan to." He grinned when she kissed his cheek and couldn't help watching her walk away.

The rest of the bouts were similar to the first half. Tom concentrated on the music playing in his head, letting it guide his attacks and blocks, his parries and dodges. Finally, the only candidate left was Dickie. "I _guess_ I'll go."

"Don't strain yourself," Tom countered, nettled by Dickie's lackadaisical attitude.

Sauntering to the front, Dickie retorted, "Don't worry, I won't."

"Take this seriously, Candidate Greenleaf," the Marshall told him, quiet and serious. "Fighting kaiju isn't a game."

Peter cleared his throat. "This isn't about winning. First to five touches ends the bout. Begin."

"Come on, Ripley." Baring his teeth in a parody of a smile, Dickie charged Tom, faster than Freddie, and tackled him with his staff across Tom's stomach.

The combination knocked the air out of Tom's lungs. Trying to catch his breath, Tom struggled to escape Dickie's grip. Unfortunately, Dickie didn't let up. In the end, Tom managed to wriggle and squirm between Dickie's legs, hitting him with his staff before he rolled to his feet, coughing slightly. "Is that all you've got, Greenleaf?"

"Oh, no." Dickie shook his head, getting to his feet and rolling his shoulders. "I'm just getting started."

The bout that followed was a fast and furious exchange of blows and blocks. The staccato clacking of wood against wood emphasized the quick, angry music running through Tom's mind. It ended in a tie at one hit apiece because Tom's staff broke. Grinning as Tom stared at the two pieces in his hands, Dickie raised his own staff to attack again. Tom trapped it between the pieces and twisted it out of Dickie's grip. "Tied, one to one." Dickie's hands twitched at his sides. "Stand _down_, Candidate Greenleaf."

"Yes, Assistant Marshall," Dickie muttered, stepping back as his shoulders relaxed.

As he returned to his spot near Freddie and Fausto, Peter handed his clipboard to Marge and picked up two staves. He tossed one to Tom, who caught it with a grin. He'd wondered if Peter would follow through on his promise. Clearing her throat, Marge announced, "Candidate Smith-Kingsley and Candidate Ripley. Remember, this is not about winning. The first to five touches ends the bout."

"Let's do this, old man," Tom told him with a grin.

Peter raised his eyebrows as he set himself. "_Old_? Is that the best you can do?"

"We'll see." Tom felt almost giddy with anticipation.

Marge looked from one to the other, and then nodded. "Begin!"

They circled each other, assessing, watching, evaluating. At almost the same moment, they closed with each other, attacking, blocking, dodging, and feinting. Then Peter did something Tom couldn't quite follow and rapped Tom across the ribs. When Tom stumbled, Peter tried to follow up, but Tom swept out and around with his staff. Peter didn't see it in time and fell on his ass. "Tied, one to one. Want to stop while you can?"

"Hardly," Peter retorted, sweeping his legs towards Tom's feet.

"Oh, really--" He was so busy dodging the obvious attack that he forgot to watch for the staff and it slapped across his hip.

Tom caught a second attack with his staff and used it to lever Peter's back so it hit his shoulder. "Interesting, turning my own weapon against me."

"Use what works," Tom reminded him, referring to one of Marshall Greenleaf's favorite sayings.

Laughter rippled around the room like a cascade of notes as Tom and Peter began to spar in earnest. The music that played as accompaniment was proud and joyful, full of life and hope. When they paused, their staves crossed so the ends pointed at each other's throats, Marshall Greenleaf broke the silence that had descended on the room. "I've seen enough, Candidates. This test is officially done. Dismissed."

Most of the candidates left in groups of two or three. Tom slumped onto the bench and tugged his tank top off. "I need a nap and a shower."

"Not in that order, I hope," Peter remarked lightly, putting their staves away.

"I don't know," Tom countered, wiping his chest with the towel. "I'm pretty damn tired."

Peter picked up the sweat-soaked tank top. "At least rinse off the sweat so it doesn't get all over your sheets."

Tom made a face and nodded. "You make a good point."

"Good." Peter let Tom's tank top fall back onto the bench. "See you later."

"See you." Tom watched Peter go, not sure what he should do.

*

In the end, he took a shower and a nap. A week or so later saw him and Peter in the Test Pod, being buckled into the harnesses for the first time. Their drivesuits were a solid dark green for now. Once they were assigned a jaeger, its name and logo would be painted on. For now, the lights from the consoles rippled over solid green as the techs bustled around them. Marge's voice came over the comms. "How are you feeling gentlemen?"

"Fine, Ms. Sherwood," Tom replied quickly, absently tapping his fingers against thin air.

Peter shook his head. "He's lying, Marge. We're both nervous."

"Perfectly understandable, Peter, Tom," she replied, sounding amused. "Give the word when you're ready to initialize the handshake."

Nodding this time, Peter told her, "Give us a moment."

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts," Tom asked, worried.

Peter laughed softly. "No, I just want to make sure you're _really_ okay."

"Yes, I'm nervous, but it's not going to keep me from going ahead with this. You?"

Peter smiled gently and took Tom's hand. "I'm more than fine."

"Then let's do this." He squeezed Peter's hand before reluctantly releasing it to put on his helmet.

When he looked back at Peter, he'd put his helmet on, too. Smiling at Tom, Peter said, "We're ready, Marge."

"Glad to hear it," Marge answered promptly. "Initializing in 3... 2... 1... now."

All the descriptions couldn't have prepared Tom for the flood of memories, some familiar, others not. First he was ten, crying next to his parents' bodies where they'd been crushed by falling debris from Trespasser's fight with the military. Then he was thirteen, watching the news report about Trespasser's attack with horror in his parents' living room in London. Still thirteen, he begged the orphanage director not to sell the old upright piano that'd just been taking up space until Tom arrived. "Who can afford piano lessons in times like these?"

Now sixteen, he argued with his parents about signing up for the Jaeger Program. "They can get others to fight the kaiju."

"We're nowhere _near_ the Pacific, Peter. Why should _you_ risk your life?" Mother demanded, tears in her eyes.

"The kaiju are threatening the _whole_ world, Mother," he explained as calmly as he could. " I can't just study music while others put their lives on the line."

Sixteen again, he learned how to work on the Wall and earned rations to ease the burden on the orphanage. Eighteen and he left for the Auckland Shatterdome to join the Jaeger Program. Still eighteen and Herbert Greenleaf was offering him a chance to do more with his life than building a Wall. Twenty found him transferring to Los Angeles from Auckland. Finally, he saw him meeting himself upon arriving at the Shatterdome with Marshall Greenleaf, looking both wide-eyed and awed as well as calm and composed. "…coming into alignment. Neural handshake is strong and holding steady. How are you doing, Peter, Tom?"

"Good, Ms. Sherwood," Peter replied, and then frowned.

Tom stifled a laugh and told her, "Fine, Marge."

"That's one sign of a strong handshake," Marshall Greenleaf interjected as Tom frowned with consternation. "Taking on each other's speech patterns. Let's start with basic movement to see if you can _stay_ in alignment."

Their answer came in unison. "Yes, Marshall Greenleaf."

*

Later, Tom felt too restless to settle down to anything. It felt like his skin didn't fit right anymore. He turned at a knock on the door and opened it. Peter stood there, hands tucked into his pockets. "Hello."

"Hi." Peter smiled nervously. "Can I come in?"

Nodding, Tom opened the door wider. "Yeah, of course."

"Thanks." Peter stepped in far enough so Tom could close the door behind him.

Easing around Peter, Tom picked up the clothes on the only chair and dumped them in the hamper. "Have a seat."

"Thanks again." Peter sat on the chair and Tom perched on the edge of the bed.

They sat in silence, looking everywhere except at each other. After several minutes of this, Tom made an exasperated noise in his throat and scooted towards the head of the bed. "Come here."

"What?" Peter stared at him.

Tom held out his hand. Peter took it and some of Tom's discomfort eased. "Join me."

Nodding, Peter sat down beside Tom so they were pressed against each other from shoulder to hip to ankle. "Oh. The rangers talked about this, but I wasn't sure it was a real thing."

"Talked about what?" Tom asked, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist to keep him close. Not that he seemed inclined to move away.

"Velcroing," Peter explained, winding an arm around Tom in return. "The need to stay close after you Drift."

Humming, Tom rested his cheek on Peter's shoulder. "Why didn't you mention you'd planned to be a musician yourself if not for the kaiju?"

"I didn't want you to think I said it because _you_ said it." Peter pressed his cheek against Tom's blond hair. "It was more my parents' plan anyway."

Humming again, Tom pressed closer to Peter. "'Mglad we met, Peter, kaiju aside."

"Me, too, Tom. Me, too." He kissed Tom's forehead. "Let's get some sleep. We had a big day today."

Tom grunted and let Peter guide him under the covers. Moments later, Peter joined him. It took some squirming and sleepy laughter, but they found a comfortable position in each other's arms and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Whether you ship Tom and Peter or not, there's no denying that they just suit each other better in terms of interests and personalities.


End file.
